


the unwanted coronet of the space cadet

by dizzyondreams



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-movie/post-drift, Trans Male Character, ish?, tfw ur kinda old man married to ur frenemy but u gotta save the world first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyondreams/pseuds/dizzyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>his hands weren’t his own, and he was covered in tattoos he half didn’t recognise, and his leg was burning, his eye was burning, <i>his hands weren’t his own</i>-</p>
            </blockquote>





	the unwanted coronet of the space cadet

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like newt talks in a lot of run on sentences. i feel like hermann hasn't throttled him so far with his own tie because of this because he's a) a saint b) oddly fond and c) a saint. 
> 
> anyways this is my first ever pacific rim fic after devouring literally every single fic out there so this is equally scary + exciting?? i love them. i hope u enjoy!
> 
> i listened to a lot of superconducting supercolliders while writing this! u can find it at cleanwriteroom.com - listen to berlin imo
> 
> i'm at girlshinji on tumblr if u wanna come talk headcanons with me! title from en règle (and out) by CWR

The red ring around Hermann’s iris matched his, Newt knew. He could feel it, a burning itch that reminded him of long nights and Hermann yelling at him over whatever twisted mess of Kaiju that had been shipped in that day, night, week. Hermann had always gotten antsy on those long nights, Newt mused, reaching up to rub at his eye.

Hermann’s hand rose too, and they froze momentarily, staring at each other speechlessly from other sides of the room. Newt dropped his hand uneasily, eye throbbing, knowing that Hermann’s was hurting just as bad. In the back of his mind, a knowledge which he couldn’t put his finger on, an odd tugging that made him want to curl into Hermann’s side and span his hands across his chest, bury into him and make himself a home in his ribcage, beside his steady beating heart that Newt swore he could hear from across the room, even though that was impossible, even though-

Hermann cut off his increasingly manic turn of thought with an impatient gesture of his cane. He didn’t need to verbalise what he meant, not this soon after the drift, not when Newt’s brain kept confusing him for Hermann, not when Newt kept getting those phantom pains down his leg, when he kept recoiling whenever he caught sight of his own tattoos-

Another tug at the back of his mind, the vague promise of comfort, warmth, and Newt couldn’t work out how it was happening, and he was a fucking biologist, man, no one knew the human brain like he did, hell, no one knew the _Kaiju_ brain like he did, and yet there was a wave of annoyance, tinged with worry, rising in his mind, and it definitely wasn’t his, _it didn’t belong to him_ , and his hands weren’t his own, and he was covered in tattoos he half didn’t recognise, and his leg was burning, his eye was burning, _his hands weren’t his own_ -

Newt flinched when Hermann sat down heavily next to him on the sagging old leather couch they’d been carting from Shatterdome to Shatterdome for the best part of ten years. Newt lowered his hands from his face shakily, letting his glasses slide back down his forehead from where he’d pushed them in his haste to get at his eye. Hermann wasn’t looking at him, rested his arm along the back of the couch in a silent invitation for Newt to curl into his side like he’d been aching to do since they’d drifted. Newt hesitated, trying to cast his mind back to when he’d last touched Hermann, but stopped when it came to five years, because it was frankly depressing.

“Just come here before you give yourself another nosebleed.” Hermann said fussily, voice lacking its usual venom. “We can’t have you haemorrhaging all over the lab, it’s unsanitary.”

With a sigh, Newt did, and the relief when his face settled against the slightly scratchy fabric of Hermann’s jacket was staggering. _No such thing as post-drift hangover my ass,_ he thought, closing his eyes and trying not to _nuzzle_ at Hermann like an overexcited cat. It surprised him how little he was surprised by how Hermann felt under his hands. Like he knew, when of course he didn’t.

“Hangover indeed.” Hermann said tiredly, letting his head drop back against the back of the couch. “I’ve got a headache like someone’s trying to split my skull open. What?” 

Newt had raised his head from Hermann’s chest, fixing him with wide eyes. “I didn’t say anything out loud.” He said, and Hermann narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Impossible.” He muttered dismissively, but Newt was on his feet before he could say another word.

“That is _fascinating_!” He cried, crossing the room to his desk quickly before he began to yank open the drawers of it in search of his voice recorder. “Hermann-” He began, pain and unfamiliar emotions forgotten in the excitement of _discovery_.

“It’s in the top drawer of my desk.” Hermann said dourly, watching Newt move around the room with an air of despair. “Can you sit down before you bleed all over my papers?”

Newt flapped his hand at him as he rummaged through Hermann’s comparatively pristine desk, only pausing when a fat drop of blood dripped onto the back of his hand. “Huh,” He said, bringing his wrist to his nose, “You weren’t kidding.”

He found his recorder seconds later, and with a triumphant cry and his tie pressed to his nose (ignoring Hermann’s noise of disgust) he clicked it on and began speaking.

“Date is January 12th, time, 10pm, approximately like, three hours post Operation Pitfall aka us bombing the living shit outta the Breach, and since I irreversibly melded my brain to my long term frenemy and partner, Doctor Hermann Gottlieb. For the record and also because aforementioned Doctor Gottlieb is glaring daggers at me right now, seriously I can feel his old man confusion in the back of my head, frenemy is the mash up of ‘friend’ and ‘enemy’. Do you feel better now, Herm?”

Hermann just gave a Look, the one that Newt always got after getting Blue all over the floor. “Don’t call me that awful nickname.”

“Yeah, he’s got it.” Newt muttered into the recorder, just as the throbbing in his eye made itself known again. “Fuck. Post drift with a Ponns made from literal garbage effects are as follows: gnarly hematoma in both Hermann’s eye and mine. Right eye for me,” Newt squinted at Hermann. “Left eye for Hermann. So far, no cracks about wedding rings, but Tendo is too busy getting wankered with the rest of J-Tech, so the night is still young. Also, hurts like a bitch.” He hissed, pulling his glasses off and pressing the heel of his palm to his eye, gritting his teeth as a particularly harsh throb of pain went through it. He tasted blood, and cracked his good eye open to find the blurry brown blob of Hermann. “Doctor Gottlieb,” He gritted out, “For the record, is my nose still bleeding?”

“Yes.” Hermann said stiffly, and Newt nodded carefully.

“Another side effect – nosebleeds, which is for sure a matter of course or whatever but I’m starting to wonder if there’s actually any blood in my body left to bleed out. Tie is useless now,” He added, “Looking for a tissue asap.”

“Is this really necessary?” Hermann, asked, standing with some difficulty and limping over to Newt’s side to press an honest to god _monogrammed_ handkerchief into his hand. “You need to go to the medical bay, or at least get some sleep. We both do.”

“The pursuit of knowledge doesn’t sleep.” Newt said thickly, pressing the handkerchief to his nose. “You of all people should know that.”

Hermann sighed and sat down at his desk. The look he gave Newt when he hopped up to perch on the edge of the desk could only be described as _concerned_ , oddly. Newt silently filed this away in his comprehensive mental drawer labelled ‘things Hermann’s done to mentally puzzle over in the early hours of the morning’. It was a working title.

“We’re both experiencing heightened levels of? Empathy, I guess? I can sense what Hermann is feeling emotions-wise as if they were my own, but my brain is _aware_ they’re not my own, which is weird.” Newt frowned into the middle distance for a second, wondering if his nose had stopped bleeding yet. “The whole, sharing emotions thing is creating a real strong sense of cognitive dissonance, right now.” He noted. “I have a new appreciation for a big warm sweater, which is ridiculous, as we all know I’m a style over warmth sorta dude.” He turned to Hermann, who was leaning back in his chair looking ashen. “You got any new tastes, man?”

“I remember in painful detail getting Knifehead tattooed over my sternum to cover up top surgery scars.” Hermann said softly, looking a little ill. “And I keep adjusting glasses which aren’t there.”

“Yeah,” Newt said in what he hoped was a consoling tone. “Samesies.” Hermann rested his head on his desk gently.

“Anyways, Hermann can also read my mind-“

“I’m fairly certain you said that out loud, Newton.” Hermann snapped, sounding a lot more like himself, despite the whole forehead to desk situation.

“Fairly certain I did _not_ , Hermann.” Newt shot back, then nudged his knee against Hermann’s, just for some momentary relief. It felt like something was coiling up in his body, tighter and tighter until he was thrumming out of his skin with how tense he was, how he could feel every single scrape and bruise from his mad rush from Otachi. He knew Hermann felt the same, as his shoulders sagged in relief as Newt’s knee touched his.

“Bodily contact soothes _everything_.” Newt murmured into his recorder, the adrenaline ebbing out of him as the pain dulled. “Also, I’m experiencing a strong level of dissociation, more than usual, I mean, which I can only assume is the same for Hermann. Example, hands aren’t mine, I feel like I should be using Hermann’s cane to walk, and I whenever I stand up I feel like I should be a good,” He stood up to check. “Six inches taller. Very weird, and knowing why is not helping my brain, useless piece of grey matter it is right now.” He slumped back against the desk, rubbed at his eye under his glasses and hissed when it only made it throb harder. “May need to brave the ‘world is saved’ party and the resulting migraine just for some booze.” He muttered.

“Absolutely not.” Hermann mumbled, pushing himself into an upright position and snatching Newt’s recorder from his pocket before he could react. “And no more of this, we need to sleep.”

“Are you propositioning me, Doctor Gottlieb?” Newt drawled, watching as Hermann located his cane and stood, ignoring the sudden tug towards a memory that wasn’t his, one of himself, reaching for something on a high shelf, his shirt tugging out of his pants, and a sudden rush of yearning and _lust_ at the sight of coloured skin and a strip of the waistband of his boxers-

Newt had never been good at ignoring things he was curious about. 

“Newton,” Hermann murmured warningly, and Newt caught himself on the edge of the desk just in time as he swayed on his feet. His skin felt prickly, like it was too small for him, restrictive. 

“I think I need to lie down.” He slurred, tongue feeling too thick in his mouth. He couldn’t taste blood anymore, which meant his nosebleed had stopped, which was actually super fucking baller for his red cell count. He tried to relay this to Hermann, but all that came out was a mumbled mash of words before he took a few steps forward and faceplanted on the couch.

\----------

Newt groaned as he came to, making an aborted movement towards covering his eyes as a warning throb of pain shot through his head. “Hermann,” He gritted out, knowing they were still in the lab because he could smell leather and blood under his face. 

Darkness rushed over him like cool water before he could finish his sentence, and he cracked one eye open experimentally, the lab a mess of uncertain blurry shapes. He could hear the tapping of Hermann’s cane to the left of his prone body, but didn’t want to tempt fate and move in case he puked as hard as he wanted to. A surge of concern in the back of his mind didn’t help matters, and he shut his eyes against the nausea of cognitive dissonance as his brain tried to make his short sighted eyes adjust to a room he’d have to be long sighted to see. 

“Mm’gon barf.” He mumbled, pressing his sore face harder into the couch and taking a deep breath. “Wha’ happened?”

“No you’re not.” Hermann retorted, “And you overexcited yourself, bled all over the place before your brain caught up with the rest of you and realised you haven’t slept in over four days.” The dip of the couch near Newt’s feet told him Hermann had taken a seat. Good, his leg must be killing him after all that running.

“I took some painkillers, don’t worry about me.” Hermann replied, and Newt sighed as Hermann began to ease his boots off.

“Okay, a) Stop reading my mind, please, and b) stop being a self sacrificing asshole and also c) please feed me some of your painkillers. The good ones.” He might have whined a little when Hermann moved away, embarrassingly touch starved and drift hungover as he was. “Plus, Herm, four days is nothing. You know I was manic, dude.”

Hermann mumbled something under his breath that Newt didn’t catch, but there was the distinctive rattle of a pill bottle, and then a cup of slightly lukewarm tea was being pushed into his hands. 

“Hermann, you’re saving my life.” Newt sighed reverentially, easing himself into a more upright position. 

“You really shouldn’t take them on an empty stomach.” Hermann muttered, somehow managing to twist worry into annoyance in his tone. Newt smiled into the teacup, holding his hand out for the pills. 

“Stop fussing, you’re putting my mother to shame.”

Hermann muttered something like, ‘wouldn’t be difficult’, which was so unexpected that Newt laughed suddenly, surprised, clutching at his sore head as the events of the night coalesced into a laughing fit of potentially damaging proportions.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Newt wheezed, head in his hands and between his knees as his stomach reminded him just how fragile he was feeling. “Jesus Christ, Hermann, we saved the world, dude. How fucking rockstar is _that_.”

“We didn’t exactly do any of the legwork, Newton.” Hermann reminded him drily, handing him two pills and watching like a hawk as Newt swallowed them dry and handed him back the tea. “I would hate to see your stomach lining after dry swallowing pills for years.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t love to get your hands on me post mortem.” Newt arranged himself very artfully against Hermann, as trying to keep the contents of his stomach firmly inside his body was proving difficult. He froze then, and squinted at the mostly blurry circle that was Hermann’s head. “I think I just forgot which of us was the biologist there, fuck.”

“I too have been experiencing similar dissociative moments.” Hermann said, arranging Newt against his side until they were both more comfortable. They sat for a second, just breathing and listening to the faint noises of the party going on above their basement lab. “Earlier when you were passed out I was reminiscing fondly on my Bar Mitzvah, and it took me maybe ten minutes of doing so to realise that I am in fact not Jewish.”

Newt laughed carefully, brain still feeling very tender. “It was good though, huh?”

“It was.” Hermann said softly, and they lapsed into silence. Newt supposed it was comforting, having someone who knew him inside out, knew all the bad memories and the good ones, without any of that _feelings jam_ bullshit. He could’ve probably thought of a couple better people than _Hermann_ to know all his deep and darks, but then again, who would understand him better? Almost ten years of being passed from lab to lab, sharing spaces no bigger than Newt’s childhood bedroom, arguing and working late into the night to achieve what they had done not four hours ago. _Finally._ Ten years in the making, the ruiner of countless failed relationships, the only one which had survived was _theirs_. 

“I can practically hear you thinking from here.” Hermann mumbled, sounding half asleep, and Newt snuck a glance that was only sorta blurry at his face, not even needing to see it clearly to know that Hermann was transformed in sleep. That harsh, flat line of his mouth, so often pulled down in a frown, relaxed and soft. Expression more open, more vulnerable. Not tight and pinched in annoyance and pain and thought like it was in wakefulness. 

“That’s because you, and solely you, for some goddamn reason, can read minds.” Newt said, and when Hermann didn’t reply he murmured, “I think we need to talk about the drift, Herm.”

“Don’t call me that.” Hermann said, almost on reflex, then. “I would rather _not_.”

“I think we need to.” Newt insisted, sitting up straighter and patting down the front of Hermann’s jacket for his glasses he knew would be stashed there. Finding them and sliding them on, he almost winced as everything came into focus. Hermann wasn’t looking at him, his expression cold and closed off, defensive. “It’s important we don’t just, ignore whatever we saw.”

“Anything you’d like to discuss will be something that is already common knowledge between us, Newton.” Hermann snapped. “Need I remind you we’ve been working together a decade and corresponded well before that? Need I also remind you that you are the single most tactless person I’ve ever met?”

Newt grinned, and leaned into Hermann’s space a little more. “Don’t expect me to drop this just because you’re flattering me, Doctor.” He didn’t miss the way Hermann’s eyes dropped to his mouth before returning to his eyes, and Newt rolled his eyes and leaned back. “Listen, I know you know all about my brain bullshit and my gender stuff, and I know about all _your_ brain stuff etc etc etc.”

Hermann cut his eyes away, ears red, and Newt laughed. “God you’re so fucking _British_ , can we please talk about the _multiple_ memories I saw of you straight up ogling my ass? I swear, if you stared at it any harder, my ass might actually burst into flames.”

With a distressed noise Hermann covered his face with his hands. “That’s _quite_ enough now, Newton.” He said stiffly. “There’s no need to be so _gauche_.”

This wasn’t the first time their mutual attraction had come up. It was impossible not to, when they’d shared practically every day of the past decade with each other. Especially not when Newt’s meds made him such an absolute lightweight. Newt didn’t want to think on the number of times he’d announced his ‘metaphorical hard on for Hermann’s brain’ when he was drunk.

It really narrowed down to the whole, ‘too busy saving the world’ thing which had been used on countless partners throughout the decade of their partnership, if the term could even be applied to them. Sometimes, when there is an impending apocalypse and the fate of humankind is being partly held in their often-viscera-coated hands, then, well. Less important stuff fell by the wayside. 

“Apocalypse cancelled, my dude.” Newt announced. “Pretty sure I’m _possibly_ a different person now that I know I’m not gonna be waking up expecting a Kaiju to tear us a new one, city-wise.” Hermann threw him a disbelieving look. “Alright, fair, but I’m much less likely to be setting the contaminant alarms off every couple days.” Another disbelieving look. Newt laughed a little desperately. “C’mon, man, throw me a bone here. No more Blue on your side of the lab!”

“You said that when we first came to Hong Kong.” Hermann said frostily, but there was a creeping feeling in the back of Newt’s skull that told him Hermann was coming around. 

“What I’m trying to get at is like, we can start fresh.” Newt said gently. Hermann’s mouth softened. “And we’ve got all the time in the world now.”

“Exactly.” Hermann said, just as soft, as if they weren’t the only people on the entire floor right now. Truthfully, to Newt’s drift-addled brain, they might as well be the only people in the _world_ in that moment. “What the both of us need right now is our beds, and possibly a brain scan or two.”

Newt laughed at that, only because he knew that if Hermann felt like he needed a brain scan then what state was Newt in? One drift alone, a seizure, almost being eaten by a Kaiju, _another_ drift, the sheer dizzying overload that was the inside of Hermann’s mind-

Newt flicked a memory Hermann’s way, the fear as Hermann puked his guts out post-drift. The fear that whatever Hermann had seen in Newt’s head had caused that reaction. Hermann’s eyes widened at the memory, and then his expression shifted to something sadder, almost pitying. Newt half turned away, shifting across the couch to put some space between them.

“Don’t be an imbecile.” Hermann said, reaching out to curve his hand around Newt’s jaw. “I would never be disgusted or scared by anything in your mind.” He tilted his head to the side, rethinking. “Well, nothing not R-rated, as most of that is just repellent.”

Newt felt the corners of his lips quirk up. “Most?” He repeated, and laughed when Hermann rolled his eyes and withdrew from him. The silence settled easily between them, and Newt let his mind rest a little, listened to the thrum of his pulse and let himself be comforted by it. He was alive, a little battered and bruised, with probably enough nightmare fuel for the rest of his life, but alive. It felt good. The warm presence of Hermann to his side felt good.

“If you want to begin anew and pretend we don’t know everything about each other down to the smallest idiosyncrasies, I think I may be able to…play along.” Hermann said finally, and stiffened when Newt’s gaze shot to him. “But only after eight hours sleep _minimum_ and a CAT scan.” He added quickly, and Newt drooped a little.

“Fine.” Newt muttered, thinking how there wasn’t a force on earth strong enough to get him eight hours of sleep, not even Hermann’s glare. “Help me stand up.”

He swayed weakly to his feet, trying to ignore the irony of Hermann helping him walk. And if he leant into Hermann’s side a little more than was needed, well. Hermann had always told him he was a drama queen. Besides, he now had empirical evidence that Hermann had been crushing on him like a seventh grader since like, _forever_. Newt could lean on him as much as he liked.

“Y’know,” Newt mused as they shuffled into an elevator. “I would totally kiss you right now if I hadn’t bled all over my face and in my mouth and stuff.”

“What a pity.” Hermann muttered wryly, but his ears were red again, and Newt could feel the slow burn of want creeping over his mind when Hermann gave him a sidelong look.

“Please, I can’t be doing much for you looking like _this_.” Newt gestured to himself, blood and torn clothes and dirt _everywhere_. “This is prime Boneslums dirt, I might be contracting something hard to shake as we speak.”

“Newton, you always look a fright.” Hermann replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you came to the lab showered and in clean clothes.”

“I’ll have you know it’s a very careful look I’ve cultivated for myself and just one ill-timed shower could throw it all off.” Newt mussed his hand through his hair and grimaced at the feel of it. “But I think tonight is a time as good as any, actually.”

They stepped out of the lift straight into the middle of the party, both of them wincing simultaneously at the sudden noise and press of bodies. A man easily twice the size of Newt lifted him up and kissed him on both his cheeks, before turning to a group of equally huge men and shouting something like ‘little scientist’ in Russian. They all cheered, and Newt, not too exhausted and drift fucked over to showboat, grinned and pumped his fist in the air until Hermann retrieved him and carted him off.

“ _He_ kissed me.” Newt told Hermann once they were in the slightly quieter corridor that led to their rooms. 

“He was drunk as a lord.” Hermann retorted. “And had purer intentions than I.”

Newt drew back to look at him with a grin on his face, eyebrows raised. “Is that true?” He asked, stopping dead in the middle of the corridor and staring up at Hermann, who fixed him with a put-upon glare.

“I don’t suppose you’ll ever know unless you sleep and shower.” Hermann said, and Newt groaned in defeat, starting back down the corridor.

“You know me too well, Herm.”

They came to a stop outside Newt’s door, and Hermann lingered on the doorstep for a minute, looking uncertain. Newt, who was sitting on his bed and pulling his socks off, shot him a questioning look. “What’s up, Romeo? You gonna try and charm your way into my bed after all?”

“What are we supposed to do now?” Hermann asked, ignoring Newt and bracing a hand against the doorframe as he wobbled. Newt shrugged, tossing his socks in the general direction of his laundry pile.

“Get a real job, settle down, write a paper on all this madness,” He pulled his tie off and gave it a long look before tossing it in the bin. “Visit your family, rub it in your dad’s face.” Newt grinned when Hermann snorted.

“I’ve received an offer from MIT for a lecturing position,” Hermann said delicately, not quite looking at Newt. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go back to teaching?”

Newt stared at him for a minute, shirt half unbuttoned, fingers frozen. He’d never been the sort of person who denied himself things, that was obvious. Snap decisions were his forte, and he prided himself on going with his gut but there was something about the open look on Hermann’s face, the way his fingers were tapping nervously on the doorframe, that made him actually want to think this over. “Is that what _you_ want to do?” Newt grinned. “You can’t stand Americans.”

“Well, a nice house in a quiet part of Bavaria seems a little outside of your comfort zone.” Hermann said drily, and Newt stared at him in amazement.

“You’re taking what I want into account for _your_ future?” Newt’s head was starting to throb again, and the weight of commitment was starting to settle sickly heavy in his stomach. “That’s a lot, man.”

“We don’t have to discuss it now.” Hermann said quickly, looking a little shamefaced. “I’d understand if after all this time what you need is time alone, but-“

“That’s the opposite of what I want, I think.” Newt said, then sighed and tossed his shirt into the bin alongside his tie. He could feel Hermann staring at his tattoos, and forced himself to stop from hunching his shoulders, an old habit from before he’d had his top surgery scars covered up. “Listen, Hermann, I’m probably definitely gonna crash soon, and you look like shit, so.” He paced over to the door, and Hermann straightened his back, nodded. “Don’t look so ready to shoot off a salute to me, fuck.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Hermann said, tone clipped, but his eyes were warm when their eyes met.

“Remember-“ Newt began.

“We’ve got all the time in the world, I’m aware.” Hermann finished. “Goodnight, Newton.”

“’Night, Herm.” Newt murmured, and stayed to watch Hermann limp towards his own room, an unnameable feeling rising in his chest, one he wasn’t sure belonged to who.

Ten minutes later, he was knocking on the door of Hermann’s room, the need to be close too much. Seconds later, Hermann was swinging open the door with a relieved look on his face.

“Come in.” He said, and Newt did.

**Author's Note:**

> did u know there's a mountain in bavaria called wank mountain and on that mountain is a hotel called the wank haus


End file.
